Riding Freedom
by Harper Tanaka
Summary: A girls keeps dreaming of Legolas' death-- the death that never actually happened. She soons understands that her and Legolas' future are tied together through her troubled past
1. Prologue: Damn It All

Riding Freedom  
```````````````  
Prologue:  
Damn It All ``````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````  
  
My typewriter was bold in saying so, but it was the immanent truth; to the rest of the known world, I do not exist. Sure, I was your cliché, antisocial, reclusive, outsider that everyone casually looked past. I had escaped the eyes of many, happily keeping to myself; or so I thought. I didn't need friends. The way I see it, all people are too vapid to see what matters in the human spirit. Mine is too free and content with it's own will to be strapped down by another. This gratification permitted me not to care for vanity; not in any extreme sense at least. I allowed myself just to be, myself; and nothing else. And I liked it that way, not only for the sake of it's rarity, but because that's how it ought be. Besides, who would I impress by being anything other than that? I learned early on the triviality of being a people-pleaser. This is just who I am, and if even my own parents won't love me for it, so be it.  
  
Tightening the grip around my cross necklace, I sat up from my typewriter. What was I writing about? I don't know. Probably rambling on about my dad—either that, or some kind of dark, angsty poetry. "What is it?!" I replied semi-sarcastically down to my foster mother.  
  
"Dinner!" her Texas accent painfully bounced off the walls and rang in my ears.  
  
"I'm not hungry!" I yelled, in spite of my growling stomach.  
  
"As you please, ya ungrateful brat." I heard her mumble loud enough for me to hear.  
  
I walked towards my stereo and turned up my music--- The Two Towers Soundtrack, nonetheless. Ah, The Lord of the Rings; my new obsession. What bliss there was in getting lost in a brilliant fantasy such as this. If only it were all true. To escape this hellhole and be surrounded with beauty, myth, and legend. I drifted through my forested daydreams for a few brief moments before being stung with a cold slap back into reality; Damn it all, I've got homework. 


	2. Dream

Riding Freedom  
```````````````  
Chapter one:  
Dream ````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````  
`  
  
I saw Legolas running towards a mob of mindless, blood thirsting, Uruk Hai. The expression on his face was fierce, yet calm and concentrated. His confident eyes burned hotter than the hateful torches of the enemy. I was dressed as a Ranger, on a gray steed with black stockings, and a white mane and tail. I strode towards him as an Uruk from behind readied to slash him across the back. I swung my blade high in the air and severed it's head, as the creature let out a sickening shriek. Legolas' knives crossed each other to block an opposing blow from an Uruk's jagged sword. He pushed it toward the ground and slit the creature's throat. With the reflection of the gray clouds above in his eyes, he swiftly lifted his blades one by one in a single graceful spinning motion, and slaughtered two more Uruk Hai. I yelled to him,  
  
"Look out! Legolas!" His face turned, and his eyes danced around the small clearing of mud furiously.  
  
But from behind, an arrow came piercing his left shoulder. His face contorted in pain, yet still he pushed through the crowd. After another Uruk had fallen, two more arrows hit his arm and under his right shoulder blade. I screamed in horror, slaughtering another Uruk. He fell to his knees and the throng, heedless of his frame on the wet grass, passed by. A horn blew from above; high pitched—  
  
I woke up to the sound of my alarm which read, "7:30" damn. Great way to start a Friday—late again. Must have been that dream that kept me asleep; strange though, Legolas never dies.  
  
I reached over and turned off the alarm. With a great sigh, I permitted myself one more glorious minute laying my head back down onto my pillow. I closed my eyes for a second. The image of Legolas' body lying helplessly on the ground flashed once more in my mind. A sudden gasp at that horrifying picture escaped my lips and I eyes opened once again to see my surroundings. I sat up, shaking my head slightly, trying to forget the dream. Hesitating, I pulled the sheets away revealing the cold air in my room. This not being the first belated school morning for me, I was accustomed to alacrity, which meant a two minute shower I couldn't enjoy, and no breakfast. My stomach moaned as I also realized that I had forgotten my lunch money. Today was going to be enjoyable, that was for sure. I was dressed and ready in about five minutes and ran out the door.  
  
I jogged for a few moments, down the three blocks to my bus stop, and saw my bus pull up to a handful of high school numb-sculls, who were chuckling at my tardiness. Sure, laugh it up, once again, I was subject of the hilarity. I was the last to board the bus and the driver absent- mindedly scolded me for forcing him to wait the entirety of ten seconds. I ignored him and made my way to my seat: next to Gabe Rockwell. He was the buger-nosed kid in my class everyone avoided. He was quiet, but when provoked, he could be quite a handful. I secretly hoped that one day, all his wrongdoers would be brought to justice with a fatal blow to the head. He smiled at me as I took off my back pack and set it by my feet and I greeted him with a small nod. As I sat down, I heard some dim-witted remark about my glasses. I responded by pulling my hood up and putting on my headphones.  
  
My dream was curious. I deliberated what had happened in the dream. What battle was it? I had read the books numerous times, yet the more I thought about it the weirder it became. I know that Legolas never even was injured in the books, or the movies. And what was I doing there? Why was I a Ranger of the North? I meditated for a moment, and decided that it was simply a random gathering of thoughts my sub-consciencous put together as a vivid depiction of---- Legolas' death. Weird, very weird. And I was all so clear as well; as plain as the cars going past my window.  
  
I squeezed the thoughts out of my mind and concentrated on my music. I just wanted today to go by painlessly. I'd just set the standard on survive, and get through the last day of the week. 


	3. Dear Journal

Riding Freedom  
```````````````  
Chapter two:  
Dear Journal ````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````  
```  
  
My mind was stuck on autopilot throughout the day. I was like a zombie, going from class to class; my legs taking me through those dreaded hallways. How I despise my school and the horrid creatures within it. I was frightened that I would become like them one day; fearful of the fact that they themselves are zombies. Swallowing the worldly guidance of teen periodicals and MTV they filled their vacant heads with. "Buy me and I'll solve all your problems and raise your social status." ---- Well, I was sick of it. Weary of egocentric advertising industries crying out for their stake in the modern population's investments. But overall, it saddened me. I could go on, but I won't. There are too many problems with the material world for me to delve into.  
  
All I can do is vomit my outlook onto the page. The written word is my outlet. Whether it be two in the morning at my desk, or during a lecture, I'm always writing. People seem to stare at me when I do it. What's so abnormal about it? Am I really that interesting? Maybe I do tend to live in my own little world, but I'd rather do so than adapt to whoever's standards are most popular. I vowed never to allow myself to be swept into the unquenchable thirst to be the most beautiful, adored, sweetheart to everyone's delight. I pitied those trapped in such an empty hunger. Although, there were a few I had to believe in. I caught glimpses of who they really were. Especially one. One man who was really a boy underneath the thin vial of his name brand apparel. He was in choir. He had the voice of a bird that sang an alluring, bereaved song that made the heart sink and rejoice at the same time. Heh, listen to me, I sound like a lovesick puppy wants to follow you home. Alright, I'll give in. I had a crush.  
  
I wrote a poem that... might be about him. That's the funny thing about language: words just come out, and you don't know what they mean, or even whom they refer to.  
  
Autumn  
  
I'm swaying in the wind,  
A fallen leaf landing into autumn.  
I'm a never-ending September,  
Stuck between summer and winter,  
An indecisive void between you and yourself.  
I would conger up a fantasy to follow you home,  
But I'm too tired to dream.  
Dazing away in the embers of your eyes,  
I'd drift further than the breeze would take me.  
  
Strange though. This poem seems just to stop abruptly. It doesn't draw a conclusion. I suppose that's the way it is with poems that come the heart. 


End file.
